


La Chanson de Mont Gisard

by Monksandbones



Category: 12th Century CE RPF
Genre: 12th Century, Chansons de geste, Crusades, Medieval, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:52:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monksandbones/pseuds/Monksandbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baldwin IV, leper and king of Jerusalem, rides out to defend his realm against Saladin in 1177 at the battle of Mont Gisard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Chanson de Mont Gisard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_alchemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_alchemist/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, the_alchemist! It took some thought for me to figure out how best to approach your prompt, but in the end I took inspiration from your link to Baldwin’s “Badass of the Week” profile, and decided that the obvious answer was to write its twelfth-century equivalent – a _chanson de geste_. I’ve really enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> With special thanks to ineptshieldmaid, enabler and enthusiastic beta-reader of this bit of unadulterated medieval geekery.

Baldwin, the young king of Jerusalem,  
For ten fearful days has lain in his bed,  
Senseless with fever: all think him near death.  
The city streets murmur with prayers for his health.  
His barons misdoubt the fate of the realm,  
While his mother the lady Agnes tends  
His ailing limbs and soothes his restless head.

Though the infection in him grows severe,  
He is not brought low unexpectedly.  
No physician’s skill can grant him relief:  
His kingdom stands hostage to his disease,  
With a ransom too high for any leech  
Or any lord, save God, to redeem.  
Three years he has suffered from leprosy.

Now the king of Egypt watches and waits.  
Saladin the sultan burns to reclaim  
Jerusalem, and to avenge his faith;  
Restore honour to his God, and lay waste  
To the Church of the true God in that place,  
And the holy dome resplendent with saints.

And now the king of Egypt, Saladin,  
Prays to Mahomet, bids couriers speed,  
For news of the deeds of his enemies.  
A counselor comes to the sultan’s seat:  
“The perfidious count of Tripoli,  
The prince of Antioch, ride for Harim,  
With the lord of Flanders, son of Thierry,  
Who seized the same castle from Nuraddin.”

“We retook it from the Franks, God curse them.  
The lords of Aleppo now guard it well.  
But I have heard tell of how these three men,  
In zeal for this fortress and their revenge,  
Draw the host away from Jerusalem.  
Now the leper-king lies helpless in bed:  
Strike now while he can muster no defense.”

For ten long days Baldwin has lain near death,  
Ill and unable to defend his realm.  
Then a messenger comes in haste and says:  
“Saladin’s army speeds across Jordan,  
While you languish weak and helpless in bed:  
While the counts of the North ride to avenge  
The loss of Harim, and the host with them.”

“King Saladin burns to put right the wrongs,  
He thinks we do this city and his God.  
Because he is a Saracen, he loves  
Mahomet, and seeks ever to cast down  
The blessed saints of the Dome of the Rock;  
The precious relics, and the holy cross:  
For God and Saint George you must strike him now.”

“By God and Saint George, my lord, you must fight.”  
The king hears these words and struggles to rise.  
He casts off his covers: though he requires  
The aid of his mother to sit upright,  
From his sickbed he cries out: “I will ride!  
I will give battle, as I am alive:  
For God’s holy Church and saints I will fight!”

“The counts of Antioch and Tripoli,  
With the count of Flanders lay heedless siege,  
Beyond our hope, to the fort of Harim.  
Few knights now linger in the city:  
I call to arms all that remain to me.  
Though the fever and pain of my disease  
Have taken heavy toll and leave me weak,  
I will not yield untried to Saladin.  
The hour is too late to summon relief:  
But by God’s will we will carry the field.”

The king calls his barons and knights to war.  
His vassals are bold, but their numbers small:  
Scarcely two thousand noble men of arms,  
Remain to the defense of the holy land:  
Hugh of Saint Omer, Humphrey of Toron;  
Baldwin of Ibelin, Reynald of Sidon;  
Late from Gaza, Odo of Saint Amand;  
Commanding them, the Elephant of God,  
As foes name him: Reynald of Châtillon.  
Every knight left to Christendom  
Rides to meet Saladin’s host at Ascalon.

The bishop of Bethlehem leads them forth,  
Riding before them, and bearing aloft:  
The relic of relics, the holy cross.  
The king goes with him, astride his horse:  
Armed for battle and fixed in his resolve.  
The whole force rides out behind king and cross:  
Rides out to the defense of Church and God.  
They meet Saladin’s host near Ascalon,  
At the peak that is known as Mont Gisard.

Saladin’s host rides in shining array:  
Proud and fierce mamluks, well-armed and well-trained;  
All minds on Jerusalem, eager to take  
The holy city, and humble its saints;  
They advance heedless of the force they face:  
And so King Baldwin takes them unaware.

The king’s men are few, but their zeal is strong.  
Now they ride out behind the holy cross:  
They speed along the coast to Ascalon.  
“My lord,” says Reynald of Châtillon,  
“See! Our foes have erred, by the grace of God.  
They think us defenseless; they leave no guard  
To warn them of pursuit as they ride north.”  
So from behind, the knights of Christendom  
Surprise Saladin’s host at Mont Gisard.

King Baldwin wields his sword in his left hand:  
His right has borne leprosy’s worst attack.  
Now it rests at his side, weak and bandaged;  
Numb to all pain, and useless in battle.  
One-handed, he bears neither shield nor lance:  
But he rides toward Saladin’s standard.  
There he finds the nephew of the Sultan,  
And challenges him to single combat.

Saladin’s nephew is known by the name  
Of Ahmad: he is both skillful and brave.  
He accepts the challenge Baldwin declaims.  
Now he prays to Mohamet, seeking aid:  
“If I have this victory, I will make  
Bequests to mosques: I will endow a chair  
Of jurisprudence if I win the day.”

With his left hand King Baldwin draws his sword:  
Looks to heaven; makes the sign of the cross.  
Now prepared for combat, he spurs his horse,  
And rides fearlessly ahead, reaching for  
His proud adversary, who swiftly mounts,  
And wheels around, and rides fiercely toward  
Him, as they spur across the combat ground.

Baldwin strikes first: the young king and leper.  
Left-handed, his blows rain down like thunder.  
His strokes cleave Ahmad’s Syrian armor.  
Ahmad parries, but he cannot return  
The blows of the king of Jerusalem.  
Baldwin’s skillful strokes do him deadly hurt.  
Now he slips from his horse and falls to earth:  
His blood stains the ground and he does not stir:  
And so Baldwin slays Saladin’s nephew.

When they see their champion fall to the ground,  
The Saracen host cannot stop their groans:  
But Baldwin’s army delights in his strokes.  
Now his knights spring forward, eager for blows:  
They spur their great horses and draw their swords.  
They call upon Saint George; their attack is bold.  
In zealous wrath they fall upon their foes.

“For God and Saint George, ride onward and strike!”  
They charge while the sultan prepares to fight.  
At once they break through the Saracen lines.  
But Saladin’s mamluks are deadly knights:  
They do not yield lightly; and so the price  
Which they exact for surrender is high:  
Even in disorder, they fiercely fight.

The mamluks give battle. King Baldwin rides  
Onward among them; left-handed he strikes  
Down their herald, with a blow to his eyes.  
Next to the king, the elephant of Christ,  
Reynald of Châtillon, fights at his side.  
Few live unscathed who encounter his might:  
And they put the Saracen host to flight.

The battle cry echoes: “God and Saint George!”  
They charge as the sultan readies his force:  
There with the king is the count of Hebron,  
His loyal man: Reynald of Châtillon;  
And there the lords of Toron and Sidon;  
Of Ibelin, and Saint Amand and Saint Omer;  
The bishop of Bethlehem with the cross;  
For their city’s defense, two thousand swords:  
Now they worst Saladin near Ascalon.

The host of Egypt is forced to retreat  
From Ascalon in disarray: they reach  
Distant Cairo late in the waning year.  
Says Saladin: “this is my worst defeat.  
At Mont Gisard God shamed and humbled me.  
Ten years shall pass before I can redeem,  
My losses there: at the horns of Hattin.”

King Baldwin falls to his knees on the ground.  
Raising his clasped hands he praises the Lord;  
Gives thanks for this victory unlooked-for.  
And says: “I, Baldwin, give and grant to God,  
This field of battle, to be an abode,  
In perpetual alms, of holy monks.  
I call upon all who listen and watch  
Here on the field to be witnesses now  
And in the future, to what I have done.”

His barons assent, and with him they praise  
God, through whose will they have carried the day.  
In his honor they hasten to donate  
Their fiefs and lands to the new holy place.  
Their prowess upheld, their joy is great:  
Saladin retreats; although they have paid  
Blood for their triumph, they judge the price fair.

But Baldwin remains kneeling on the field.  
Now he shivers, and tears run down his cheeks.  
His arms shake, and his ruined fingers bleed.  
He feels anew the pain of his disease,  
Now redoubled: his deeds have cost him dear.  
And just as he is weakened, so he sees:  
The loss in battle of his chivalry;  
The carnage of his vassals and his peers:  
Few are left in arms for his kingdom’s need.  
There among the dead he weeps for the scene,  
And struggles to stand: servants on the field,  
Clasping both his arms lift him to his feet.

Here on the field of battle ends this song  
Of Baldwin heir of Godfrey of Bouillon:  
Of his deeds in service of Christendom;  
Of the reprieve he bought us at Mont Gisard.


End file.
